Summer Days
by arraveaan
Summary: When Seiran returned from a third tour in the military, he never expected to find an eccentric duo of father and daughter in his house. No, he couldn't help them at all. In fact...he wasn't even supposed to be there! AU
1. Home

Disclaimer: I do not own Saiunkoku Monogatari.

When Seiran returned from a third tour in the military, he never expected to find an eccentric duo of father and daughter in his house. No, he couldn't help them at all. In fact...he wasn't even supposed to be there! (AU)

Chapter 1: Home

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It was dark, but he had long ceased to even notice the time. As essential as time was on the battlefield, he didn't think the same attitude was worth taking in the gloomy streets of his hometown. All he wanted was his list of priorities to be indulged: a nice bath and a nice bed; wasn't that what a returning soldier deserved?

A right turn. Past the 7-11 located in the corner; down, further down. Just there, no, now in the back, was a small crate, always full of unwanted kittens. Some bloke probably refilled it every now and then for amusement of the many tourists. On the right was a set of old warehouse buildings, a place fit for even the most adventurous of children, like him and his brother.

"Seien!"-dear little Ryuuki would always slip through the door and tuck himself into his older brother's bed without a word, "Can I stay with you tonight? Being with you makes the darkness brighter."

And always without invitation. But always so positively adorable that Seiran could only sigh and pull an extra fistful to his side of the bed, knowing for a fact that by morning all of the blankets would be draping the floor in all of their splendor whilst he huddled sullenly against the wall, completely daunted by another day.

He was now practically shuffling down the street, the rolling of his luggage against the cracked concrete echoed quite distinctively amid the nightly chill.

To the left and slightly past the dirty flourescent sign that positively broadcasted 'PUB' in winking lights (but only ten of the fifty bulbs worked, as usual) was a large looming structure. Saiunkoku's library. Pale white marble all around, as well as where the most beautiful flowers bloomed all year through practically any season. Roses, lilies, and don't forget the dandelions.

The man chuckled, faintly wondering if the trio of odd archivistes, men by the surname of Shou, Sa, and Sou, would still be there. It had been them, after all, that had helped him through many trials before, including that one stage of life in which he was so often chased by females. The old geezers had even sent an especially ardent fangirl crawling home; bless them.

By now, the familiar stiletto of his rented apartment stood out quite clearly against the dim background, the street lamps illuminating the worn walls, particulary the shaken condition of the stairs, crumbling slabs of stones that could barely aid any being above a certain weight.

But home is home, no matter how ugly it is; home is a place of comfort, after all.

He dreadfully hoped the pitiful excuses for stairs could support his own weight...not to mention that of his luggage as well. At the second thought, he slouched, discomfited. The chances were extremely slim, they could even be rounded to zero.

He would see to it tomorrow. For now, at least there was a back door...

The exterior of the building was quite distasteful but, with his newly acquired persuasion skills, he was quite sure the landlady would allow him to repair it himself, and hopefully in exchange for that month's rent. Even the great Seiran, so skilled in many tasks, had to find a job, and hopefully a well-paying one.

Seiran smiled to himself as he clumsily adjusted the valves of the lock, turning the wheels to reflect a single line of numbers. The lock clicked. He twisted the top and pushed open the gate, a hand pressed against the smooth metal grids.

For some unknown reason, the back of the apartment was in much better condition then the front. Small sprigs of basil smiled innocently up at him from a newly dug garden (it had to be! the landlady originally didn't know how to take care of one!). His eyes drifted to the corner to narrow in on the empty pottery neatly piled in stacks of five. So that was what happened to his own plants...

He let himself in from the back entrance, taking care to silence the jingle of his keys with a cupped hand. He would check his mailbox tomorrow, the landlady was probably head-over-heels trying to find him after his sleek disappearance. A friend had given him a call recently, wondering why he hadn't bothered to reply the _many_ letters he had sent.

Seiran gave himself a pat on the back. It had always erked him how the landlady was so bossy, and he had long hoped for a chance to give her a taste of her own medicine.

His combat boots were surprisingly loud in the confined room and his rather heavy luggage didn't help either. He took off his shoes, knotting the laces together so that they would hang lopsidedly over a shoulder. With his lips tightly clamped over the gilded edge of his key ring and both of his hands tucked through the cloth handles of his baggage, Seiran set out to conquer the stairs.

Throughout the entire chain of houses he had lived in, this apartment had the worst stairs, scratch that, the worst _staircase_. And it just had to be the only one in the whole building as the landlady was too cheap to insert elevators because her own rooms were on the first floor.

A creaky fifth step, a cracked eighth, a hollow ninth. Not to mention that the angle was quite steep...

He masterfully slinked his way up the first flight, then up the second.

...a creepy eleventh that made sound akin to squeals rather then squeaks, no thirteenth...a grunting fourteenth...

A small growl formed on his lips as he stared through the empty slit down to the lobby. Why couldn't the darn female put a cover over the hole at least? He was half killing himself here!

Well, at least nothing seemed to be changed.

At last he arrived at the fifth floor, extremely displeased at the landlady and slightly heaving from the exertion. With his keys still in his mouth, he towed his luggage after him to his room.

The walls were a creamy shade of warmth, reflecting beige in the patch of light thrown by the rising sun or even a rosy grey when the sun began to sink below the horizon, coupled by shocks of spiraling lavender along some of the landings. The floor was carpet; forest green. When he had first arrived, the floors were the first to welcome him, already carpeted back when the walls were still somber planks of freshly cut wood, unpainted and untouched by the sorrow he had then felt.

He stopped in front of the door proudly labeled '512' in sloping cursive on a brass plate embedded a short distance from the handle. Just as he was about to take his keys out of his mouth to unlock the door, it opened. And he stared down into a wide pair of brown eyes.

----- ---------- -----  
Despite the shock that suddenly struck him, he couldn't but be pleased that the small girl in front of him looked surprised as well.

"I-I'm sorry! Is there anything you need?" she asked, shyly fingering the inside doorknob.

"Yeah," he breathed, startled. "Can you tell me why you are in my apartment?"

----- ---------- -----  
The next instance found him inside _his_ living room, drinking from _his_ own cup, sitting on the sofa _he_ had brought with _his_ own money.

Seiran brusquely rubbed his head. And all he had wanted was bath and bed. He never had asked for all of these extra problems. Maybe some divine being utterly loathed him. Or maybe _all_ of the divine beings wanted some amusement. How cruel.

"You must be Mr. Seiran?" the young lady was now questioning him as she poured out some tea.

"Unfortunately," the soldier sighed as he accepted another helping.

She blushed. "Kouchou-neesan said that you probably wouldn't be coming back for a while, so that me and my father can stay here for a while."

Just by her quick glance at the window told him that there was more at hand. Wait...

"Y-You're related to the landlady!?!" Seiran spluttered as he straightened, a hand pressed against his mouth to avoid spitting in the prescence of a female.

"No! She just took us in, she said she would help us settle in again," the girl muttered as she poured herself a cup of tea.

"Do you want some cookies?"

"No, thank you. I just want..." Seiran trailed off as he stood up, "Can I use the bathroom?"

"You decide. This apartment is still registered under your name", her gaze sharpened as the young man miserably pouted at her words, "My father and I will help pay the bill. And I will also-"

"No need," Seiran turned back to look at her, "Relax. I'm not angry, just tired. And don't worry. I'll sleep on the couch today." His eyes softened as he considered her surprised profile.

"But-"

"We'll discuss this topic tomorrow, get some rest. Tomorrow's another long day."

He closed the bathroom door, completely satisfied at how well he held out. He sighed as he studied the darkening patches of skin beneath his eyes. It was almost morning, but he sure didn't feel like watching the sunrise. Maybe he should take his own advice too; the couch sure beckoned.

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Possible Preview:

"Can you tell me why you are doing in this city, Black Wolf?"

The man seemed surprised, "What makes you think that I, Kuo Shouka, am an assassin? Do these hands..." He held up his worn hands, a finger of one tracing over the palm of the other.

"Do these hands look fit for the battlefield, Little Whirlwind?"

Seiran could only gape at the man. "So then, what makes you think these hands," he held up his own, making sure to slant it ever so carefully so that the wounds from the morning glistened sadly at the somber face of Shouka.

"-that these hands are-"

"So? Who said I thought?"

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If you have reached this far, I must thank you for reading this. Please review and give me encouragement...I have trouble completing stories.


	2. Identity

Disclaimer: I do not own Saiunkoku Monogatari.

Heaping thanks to jacquelinestel for reviewing!

When Seiran returned from a third tour in the military, he never expected to find an eccentric duo of father and daughter in his house. No, he couldn't help them at all. In fact...he wasn't even supposed to be there! (AU)

Chapter 2: Identity 

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Kuo. They were Kuo Shouka and Kuo Shuurei. 'Kuo'(1) as in the kanji for the outer wall of a city; a surname full of meaning. The two had just recently moved into the district (or so they both claimed); Shouka was the new archivist at the library, while Shuurei had a job at the bakery just down the street. The landlady had shuffled them into his place due to the lack of sound-proof rooms the apartment currently had, but really, it was just space in general. The old woman next door was always clamoring for quiet, barging in every now and then to scold him in her greasy tone that he should _stop putting the music on, boy!_ Well, he hated to break it to her--he didn't have a radio.

But still, that didn't explain why he was up this early, especially since he had promised himself to wake up much, much later. His eyes drifted to the clock perched at the edge of the countertop. Only five. A pity the sun was now already a mocking red stiletto in the sky.

"Do you know how to cook?" Shuurei looked up from the stove, currently stirring the mess inside the pot balanced on the black hands of the metal gratings. From the way it smelled, Seiran gave an experimental sniff; he sure couldn't wait until breakfast.

"A bit; you're asking someone who fixes roofs and shovels snow," Seiran reminded her with a soft laugh as he slowly walked to join her in the kitchen.

The 'kitchen' was actually unbounded territory of ten by seven, mere slabs of white tiles slathered with creamy-brown scribbles of design, with no doors to barricade any set area but a large pale counter that seemed to begin just three palm lengths away from the sink. Whoever had modeled the room must have been in denial that the average waistband was growing at the passing of each day..

"Though I am eager to learn more from mi'lady," he gave a mock bow, "that is, if she would be so kind as to teach me."

Shuurei was speechless for a while, before she used the back of the clean ladle to bonk him ever-so-gently on the head.

"Then, can you please begin chopping the daikon?" with one hand, she gestured to the shaved white ribbons of giant white radish on the cutting board.

"To...how much smaller?" he questioned, suddenly wondering about his own skill.

The only time he had acted as 'cook', besides in his own kitchen, was on the Browne Excursion, the soldiers not in battle (either wounded or pushed to the side by energetic oldies) had to distribute supplies. But the head chef had been shot in a tussle, so passersby had the chance to see several army men garbed in random aprons and awkwardly holding pans and crockery for several weeks while Mr. Abrovvi healed. There was one picture with the whole gathering of that day's unfortunates posing for a picture (with their salary at stake), but somehow, a young boy who made his way past them on a pair of second-hand skates had paused long enough to snap a picture with a second-hand camera.

Embarrassing. His own apron had been only a muddy shade of grey with pawprints of varying shades and smells, unlike Ensei's-who would want a striped pink one with "Looket this HOT BaBe!!!" neatly stiched on the front? No wonder it had been donated.

"Like this," Shuurei expertly took out the knife from the bottom cabinet and proceeded to slice the long ribbons into segments, which were then pushed to the edge of the board to await their fate. The metronomic dull beat of the knife against the board sounded very much different from the slow clanks he had gotten used to at camp.

"Do you want to try?"

Seiran gulped, and took the offered handle. He carefully chopped the daikon into smaller pieces, while Shurrei nodded on approvingly.

"You have skill," she smiled encouragingly before she retreated back to tend the miso soup.

"That's glad to know, my lady."

"Don't call me that!"

Seiran dodged out of the way of her ladle, laughing at her wry expression. Shuurei growled, erked. They circled the counter, until she backed him up against the GE refrigerator with a menacing glare.

But he could only watch, suddenly horrified, as she spun around in the small area, her pale pink sleeve catching the brunt of the bubbling soup's anger at being ignored.

"Be careful! The soup! My lady!" He heard from his own mouth. Incoherent, was _this_ being even him? He couldn't move! Was that his leg? How come it was so heavy?

The seconds stretched into what felt like minutes and he finally pulled her from the bubbling mess, shielding her as best as he could before the soup tipped over.

Shuurei hurridly stretched an arm to switch the fire off, she pressed the bottom of the pot inwards with the random cloth she had felt pressed in her hand, feeling the sudden weight of what could of happened.

She sighed, her shoulders sagging in relief. At least the her efforts of breakfast was still mostly intact; maybe she had to add more water, though. Her eyes flashed open when she heard the groaning from above her-a most _miserable_ masculine moan.

Seiran. Silvery hair hanging to cover his face in a light curtain, attempting to lean most of his weight against the tiles rather then on her. With one hand turning a fleshy pink.

She quickly bit down on her lip to prevent the shriek of apology from tumbling out in a crescendo of _whathaveidone!?!_ .

"I-I-I'm so sorry!!! Here!" Shuurei grabbed the extended wrist and gently placed the swollen limb under a jet of cold water; the color seemed to relent a tid, but the skin was still a flushed red.

"Wait here! I'll go get some medicine!"

Without waiting for a reply, she would of ran off, but a hand stopped her movement and jerked her back to the sink. She turned to look at Seiran, whom was leaning pitifully against the counter (maybe he could thank the designer for having thought of accidents).

"No need, my lady," he smiled teasingly, in an effort to relieve her guilt, "I've had worse."

Shuurei paused, her coffee-brown eyes widening.

Good. Maybe she would calm down. Seiran turned off the faucet and ripped off a sheet of Bounty from the roll of paper towels.

"I-!" Shuurei began, before her gaze drooped to the floor, "I really can't do anything without anyone to protect me, ne?"

He gaped, mouth hanging just a fraction before he finally recalled enough sense to close it. How in the world did she translate that from his words?

"Wait! I didn't mean it like that! I just wanted to say that it isn't very serious! I-" he searched desperately for words, resisting the urge to raise his hands to accent each syllable of frustration.

The unspoken words trailed off , however, at the small giggle that shook her slim frame. He waited. Another giggle.

Seiran's mouth curved into a relieved grin. At least she wasn't crying-the emotion he had the most trouble dealing with.

"I'm sorry! Thank you, though," Shuurei smiled, "for both saving me and cheering me up." One long finger dabbed suspiciously at her cheeks before she turned back to the stove, determination etched over her features.

"Leave breakfast to me," she shooed him out of the 'kitchen', "You should rest."

So he nursed his hand silently in the corner, watching her slim figure bustle around; suddenly stirring the soup, now taking out the tea set, back to the daikon, then down to the oven and up again.

"Mr. Seiran-"

He nearly groaned. It was the fourth day of their acquaintance, and she was still calling him that. Well, at least that was better then what some other females had cooed down from their high windows while in search of customers. "Mr. Whitehead!" "Lovely!" "Aren't you cute?"

"Seiran. 'Mr. Seiran' sounds..." he paused, scratching his head in search of a proper word, "...strange."

"What's wrong with 'Mr. Seiran'," Shuurei argued as she silently padded over to the cabinet to pull out some plates.

"It just doesn't sound right!" he protested indignantly.

"Fine. Then, Seiran," her tongue hesitantly slid over the unfamiliar name, "Kouchou-neesan called yesterday to tell you to go meet her at the newspaper stand for lunch today."

One pale eyebrow arched in puzzlement. He had been wondering when she would call for him; the landlady had her own schedule and be damned all that didn't follow it-when she wanted to see you, a message would be sent.

In this case though, she had to be hounding him about the rent; what other was there to complain about to him, what other bit of information could a just returned soldier provide for her, when she seemed to know just about any happenings going around? Such a demanding landlady...

The newspaper stand? Not just any other one? Of course he knew which she meant; the misery one they had accidently met up by. The most it had to offer were snacks-Kit Kat, Lays, Doritos (if they weren't sold out)-and miscellaneous unedible items-newspapers, rubber bands, pens...

He broke off from his thoughts long enough to glance at the clock.

"It's six, my lady."

Shuurei, deciding to ignore the parting jibe of a title, gasped, "I better go now, if I want to be on time to work today! See you later, Seiran!"

She ran out of the room, and then back in, this time with a black shoulder bag draping her arm. She switched the oven off, turned off the fire, and hastily walked to the door.

"Breakfast is the miso and a manjuu bun!" The door closed, shutting harshly to cancel the slight echo of her voice.

He had barely moved when the door cracked open again, just enough to allow Shuurei's head to poke through. She turned, two smooth black locks framing her face.

"Oh, and Seiran, call me 'Shuurei' unless you want me to add the 'Mr.'," her smile was infectious, even just for those thirty or so seconds.

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To pass the time until twelve, he had never thought, or even considered that this would happen.

"Check," Shouka stated calmly as he picked up his bishop and slid it diagonally across the boards, the piece treading only on the coffee-brown tiles. The pawn originally on the block fell over and was gingerly fished out of the clustered pieces, deposited at the sideline to rest with the motley of captured troops.

The soldier growled, and immediately countered with his knight, knocking down the intruding piece, "I was prepared for that, you know."

Shouka only smiled, and immediately slid his rook across, horizontally, to corner the suddenly alone king.

"Check mate and I win," he finished with a smile.

Seiran blinked once, surprised. "Again. And with another different move."

Shouka shook his head as he picked up his already cooled cup of tea, "Actually, your king was already in quite a vulnerable position, despite the pawns and bishops arranged thus," with one fluid movement, he swept all the remaining pieces off the board, and selectively arranged several pieces in a mimic of Seiran's earlier move.

"You see?" one finger gently tapped the head of the black female monarch, "She was a bit too close, so I took her," he swiftly clipped up the white queen with two fingers, and used the bottom of the piece to gently butt the black piece, "Dead. And your rooks were too far to help in one movement."

"Yes, sir."

Shouka smiled at the honorific, before swirling his cup in small circles.

"Can you tell me why you are doing in this city, Black Wolf?" Seiran bit his lip in slight horror; the question had been mulling in his mind for a while, but when it decided to spill, why did it sound so falsely wrong, so hollow and without meaning?

The man seemed surprised, and looked downwards, his eyes studying the edge of the table, "What makes you think that I, Kuo Shouka, am an assassin? Do these hands..." He held up his worn hands, a finger of one tracing over the palm of the other.

Hands long attuned to the lifestyle of a scholar, a callus forming on the thumb of his right hand from flipping pages.

"Do these hands look fit for the battlefield, Little Whirlwind?"

Seiran could only stare at the man, at the suddenly very suspicious mild gaze.

"So then, what makes you think that these hands," he held up his own, making sure to slant them ever so carefully so that the burn from that morning, now cleaned and bandaged with a white wrap, glistened sadly at the somber face across from him. "-that these hands are-"

"So? Who said I 'thought'?" the older man calmly considered his tea for a moment, before he finally raised the cup to his lips. "It was just a feeling, please ignore me...I sure am getting old," Shouka laughed quietly before he set his cup back on the table.

There was an uncomfortable silence as the two gathered the chess figures into the velvet bag. The mahogany board was even given an unneeded wiping before it was set back on its position next to the television.

"Isn't it late, sir? Do you need me to reheat anything for you?" Seiran stood up and awkwardly cleared the empty plates of breakfast's remnants.

"No need, Seiran," Shouka busied himself with the teapot, "Leave the dishes to me. From what Shuurei told me yesterday, Ms. Kouchou really wants to see you."

Another glance at the clock. Fifteen more minutes until the next hour, which would leave him just enough time to get there earlier.

"Sorry, sir." he bowed, suddenly wondering at what he was apologizing for. "Then...off I go," he added, hesitantly.

"Have a safe trip," Shouka smiled at him warmly.

"Thank you." Again, the stupidly warm fluttery feeling in his chest. Was this what 'acceptance' was supposed to feel like?

Little did he know that his good mood would be spoiled by the landlady.

----- ---------- -----   
Thirteen whole minutes were soon passed in gazing at the scenery, and two minutes were spent in mindless frustration, bordering on anger, directed at the female.

Indeed, the scenary was amazing. Day or night, the bright colors of the red-light districts were always shining; lights strung the doors on New Years and candles decked the halls on Christmas. This was where all where those that sought for a way to flee the hard zigzags of life; those yearning for a drink or company, those wanting any random job, or those that simply wanted to disappear.

There were passerbys with children, just sightseeing the seemingly innocent outlays of the city; there were tourists, with their large, flashing cameras; there were the new unemployed, sitting near the opened doors of bars, drinking and drinking, all in an attempt to forget.

It was the beginning of the sixteenth minute when he saw her; Lady Kouchou, sometimes Ms., dressed in full splendor; a halter revealed one pale shoulder whenever she shrugged and her shoes were a matching purple.

The " Rose of Saiunkoku " was a name underestimating her prowess; no one was more experienced in the art of persuasion then her.

The dress seemed perfect for that long body, the hem flowing like lavender water about her and the sleeves that bit into the domain of her bracelets exposed her arms at nearly every synched movement of hips and waist-the very essence of the unique beauty admired and cultivated in Saiunkoku.

Indeed he, Seiran, was lucky.

His thoughts were reversed, however, at the hand that met his cheek in a swift slap. The air whooshed out of him at the startling blow.

"H-How dare you!"

With a rather harsh hand imprint on the left side of his face, he looked up to meet her awfully bright eyes.

"How dare you leave me without a note and with letters," she angrily jerked her head at the bag next to her, "that bombarded me even in the middle of the night?" Kouchou paused from her tirade to admire the young man the lad of just twelve had grown into.

His hair, a fair silver now stretched to his neck in soft waves, made an excellent contrast with the faint tint of a tan he possessed. No doubt beneath the shirt would be a fine body, richly muscled from the army. Divine sages, how she loved the military boys.

"You wanted to meet at the newspaper stand," Seiran questioned as he gestured some distance behind them. If anything, people were starting to stare, and to those that simply could not understand their relationship, although it wasn't hard unless one had trouble envisioning a master and a slave, probably thought of it as a lovers' quarrel.

She closed her eyes, knowing without even looking that he was pointing to the silverish-grey stand somewhere to her right. It had already been there since the first time that they had met, but several extensions, including new varieties of gums and most recently, manga, were added in an attempt to bring more business. It sure worked.

"I was thinking more along the lines of a stroll, if you don't mind," she commented absentmindedly, more concentrated on twisting a stray lock back to its proper position with a pin.

"As the lady wishes," Seiran gave a courteous bow and her hand came up to rest in the crook of his arm.

"So, how were you?" Kouchou asked, in an attempt to make conversation as she steered the both of them towards the park that would sooner or later wind back to the same section of the city.

"Fine," he replied with a grunt. She whacked him on the head again, giggling softly.

"Tell me more."

"As you wish. I had a relatively uneventful journey, how about you?"

Somehow, the two had managed to reach a small cafe at the middle of the rather one-sided conversation, and the lady just had to drag her companion in to take a small break.

"Lady Kouchou!" one of the waitresses breathed out in shock, stepping backwards and bringing the tray up to her chest, "What a surprise! Welcome!"

Many of the other employees present also paused to acknowledge the famous entertainer, some even bowed and curtseyed before they resumed taking orders, always with a furtive sidelong glance at the two.

"You're quite famous," Seiran remarked airily, studying the room, suddenly very self-conscious. The cafe was rather full; two old women sat on the right, conversing softly over newspapers, one young man had momentarily glanced up at their entrance, but had immediately resumed idly sipping his tea. There were four schoolgirls in uniform...soon transformed into four giddy fans that stared wide-eyed.

"Well, then thank you, Mr. Obvious, for your compliment," Kouchou chuckled as she swept past, ignoring the looks sent at her from all directions. She stepped aside, allowing the soldier to pull the chair back for her.

Seiran sat down opposite of her. "Well?"

Kouchou frowned, "Well, what?" She leaned an elbow against the clean face of the granite table, one finger toying playfully with a strand of hair. She knew exactly what he was talking about, but chose to follow her own principles: be the fisherman, swing the bait.

At the disgruntled sniff she received, the good lady couldn't resist the laugh that just seemed to bubble out, unsuppressed for once.

"May I take your orders?" a young waitress tiptoed over, the clipboard in her hands pressed stiffly against her chest in awe of being the one to serve the most influential lady in Saiunkoku, and her seemingly dignified male friend. She blushed.

"A jasmine tea," Kouchou nodded, a rather smooth gesture that the four girls now nearly piled on top of each other sighed at.

The girl jotted down the order, "and you, Sir?"

Seiran winced slightly at the title, "Uh...a Gan Lu tea."

The pen touched the paper and moved in scribbles of illegible writing. "Thank you very much, your orders will be coming soon."

Seiran amused himself with idly examining the speckled pattern lining the edge of the table. He knew Kouchou's ways; it was how he ended up meeting her in the first place. All he could hope for was that she wasn't in a bad mood, or else she would only take pleasure in watching him suffer, or even forcing him to beg.

Kouchou leaned forward suddenly, her dark eyes narrowing, "Okay, let me cut to the chase now."

He looked up, surprised. It was rare that she was so straightforward...unless the matter had been bothering her for a while, which would explain why she would spill it to him, of all people.

"You will help them, will you not? Unlike you, they're being chased."

----- ---------- -----  
_You will help them, will you not? Unlike you, they're being chased. _

Seiran slowed down to a walk as he looked up. "Komanjuu," bragged the smooth mahogany sign that beamed down at him, light from the sinking sun reflecting into his eyes from the current angle.

After the meeting with Kouchou, and yes she did hammer him about the rent, he had decided to stop at Shuurei's workplace. The doors were glass and the edges a pale, clean shade of pink. 'Welcome' was painted, scripted, in neat matching white on the door. He peeked around the word, striving to see what was happening inside the room from the clear border.

Was that her? Yes, Shuurei, with her hair pulled back to form two small butterfly wings at the back of her head. In a frilly apron, a hat that puffed over her like an enlarged muffin. She was laughing with a shorter girl whom was likewise clad. A uniform, perhaps? He craned over, striving to get a better view.

It was then that he felt it; the familiar touch of metal against his back and moving upwards to tap his spine twice. He mentally cursed and stiffened; how could he have been caught unaware?

"Spying, are you? Naughty, naughty."

The voice was low and if it was an octave higher, it would have sounded like a wail. But it wasn't. And the gun wasn't a dream either-at least it had to be a gun. Being in the prescense of strange friends had made him and a gun tip strangely familiar to each other-almost like cousins, if you will. The scariest part was that his friends never played jokes.

"What do you want?" he muttered, raising his hands slowly.

"Don't, you dimwit!" the voice hissed, clearly agitated, "Put your hands down."

Seiran smirked. There was clearly a silent 'Do you want _me_ to get caught?!?' at the end of the sentence. An amateur at such scare tactics, probably a thug hired straight off the streets and in extreme need of money.

"As you wish..."

The barrel of the gun moved upwards to the base of his neck. So the stranger wanted to be serious, eh?

"What do you know about that girl there?"

Seiran frowned, "What girl?"

"The one you've being looking at for a while now, don't pretend," the voice was laced with malice.

"Whi-" Seiran spun around, pulling the arm off his shoulder and twisting it backwards, so that the gun as now shifted in the opposite direction, at the stranger's head.

"Which would mean...that the girl over there isn't a boy?" Now he should start praying that said little cross-dressing lad won't look up.

"Now, now, buddy," the muffled voice was suddenly warm and dripping like honey, "Then...aren't we both on the same side?" The other hand, freed and unguarded, waved at the tall skyscraper opposite of them. It was obvious to any soul that he was calling for reinforcement, and to the sharp eye of an expierenced soldier, he could clearly see the dim figures hurrying down the stairs from the fifth floor.

Seiran groaned and roughly jabbed the handle of the gun against the pressure point at the neck. The man slumped forward, limp.

He turned, allowing the body to fall unguided to the floor, and opened the door, taking no notice of the bells that harkened the arrival of a customer, ringing quite daintily in the pretty store.

The two girls at the counter guiltily turned towards the door, smoothing out their aprons in identical movement, "Welcome!"

"How can we help you, today" they both chirped, completely oblivious to whatever had just happened outside.

Shuurei paused, "Seiran?!?"

He marched over to her, "You're coming with me," he grabbed her wrist, "and you," he fixed the other lass with a stare, "be quiet. I'm not kidnapping her."

Shurei's eyebrows knitted together as her friend gave a frightened nod, "Wait! I'm not going anywhere; I have work! And don't be so mean to Kourin!"

Seiran practically hauled a squirming Shuurei out of the store, taking care to stomp heavily on the prone figure lying helplessly on the sidewalk. He rushed headlong into the crowd.

Shuurei gave a gasp of horror as she knowingly eyed the body, transferring her stare to the man pulling her along. He dodged the old couple that hobbled along, leaving her to apologize in his wake, and ran into a temple. The little boy with miserable patches of brown that speckled his face perked up at the heavy sound of footsteps and held out his hands for any offerings. Seiran ran past, Shuurei only had enough time to drop a coin before they were off again.

"No! I seriously underestimated you!" she hissed as she angrily tore her arm away from him.

"It's for your own good," he glared back.

"You killed him, right?" she stared up at him, sorrowfully.

He merely ignored her and picked her up, one arm hooked around her legs and the other holding her down.

"Wait!"

"Trust me. Some men are after you," he whispered in her ear, watching as she paled, "and since you seem to know about it..."

He continued his fast trot through the streets. Taking more care to consider the fact that it was Saiunkoku and not the battlefied; he just couldn't bowl the civilians down like pins. They were now crossing the street onto a more popular road; tougher to move through, but even tougher to find anyone in.

"Seiran!"

Seiran turned to look at the car that drove parallel to him; sleek burnished brown the color of rusted copper. The window was rolled down, to reveal the long face of Shouka.

"Get on," he motioned to the back of the car with his head, "Hurry."

Already, the pursuers could be seen in the dim background; it seemed that they had ran after him and were now beaing forced apart by the crowd of eager shoppers and businessmen. But still, he pulled open the door, tossed Shuuurei in and got in himself, shutting the door tight after himself.

His eyes met with Shouka's in the mirror, and they stared at each other for what seemed like minutes; the older man's gaze warm with worry while his own were stiff with curiosity. Shouka averted his eyes to the road.

Shuurei, slightly exhausted, heaved herself upright to hang over the back of her father's chair, revealing the small tag at the collar of her shirt; a regular white tag that one would usually chop off to avoid irritation. The familiar crest on it burned into his eyes, but he turned away instead, to study the flashing scenery.

"Who," the question was hesitant, "...are you two?"

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Possible Preview:

"Ran Shuuei, at your service, and this," he patted the shoulder of the man next to him, "is my friend, Ri Kouyuu."

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(1): Kuo; 郭

Chapter Two finished! And much longer then expected too! Sorry for the late update, but I just couldn't upload documents. From the way this story is going, a Shuurei x Seiran would be the most appropriate, but I just don't ship that pairing; I permenantly believe that Shuurei should stay with Ryuuki with a happily-ever-after. So I would like to ask which pairing most of you support. And, please review!


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